I Promise not to Lie
by DevilsDaughter782
Summary: John can't stop thinking about Sherlock but he's coping on keeping his feelings undercover and not reveling anything to Sherlock...until Sherlock slips him a drug which makes it impossible for him to lie.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hello everyone. I'm so sorry about the other chapters; hopefully, I've managed to fix it now. This is the first fanfiction I ever wrote, so please be nice, but I'd love to hear what you thought about it. Again, I'm really sorry if you've been waiting for this but hopefully the wait was worth it _

_And. Of course, I don't own Sherlock, if I did Seb would have been in it from series one._

**I PROMISE NOT TO LIE**

John Watson was sat on his chair in the flat of 221B Baker street, not reading. Nope, he was definitely not reading. There was a book, there were words staring him right in the eye with words that must have made perfect sense to anyone else, they were probably even good words that spelled out an amazing story that John would probably regret not reading, but no matter how hard he tried to his brain simply would not read those words.

He was to busy thinking.

What was he thinking about?

He was thinking about beautiful blue grey eyes that stared into your soul and read you're every mood. He was thinking about cheekbones and a thin strip of a body that stuck out at odd angles but was somehow the most beautiful thing in exestence. He was thinking about shaggy black curls and the way the rain dripped off them in tiny droplets that tempted John and how he would literally kill to run his hands through that hair. He was thinking about the cleverness and coldness yet at the same time the complete vulnerableness that made John want to get closer, to see whatever was behind that asshole mask. He was thinking about lips. Beautiful lips. And how it would feel to push his own against those lips.

John Watson was thinking about Sherlock Holmes. Again.

And he really ought to stop.

See, Sherlock Holmes was amazing and fantastic and beautiful and clever (oh so amazingly clever) but he was also unavailable. Work happened to have a second name in 221B- hell it even wore a ring- and that name was Holmes. Sherlock was married to his work. He had told John so that very first night they had met. Not that John had been asking then. He wanted to ask now though. Problem was that Sherlock just didn't like people. Not romantically. John was actually pretty sure he was asexual. So John could never have Sherlock. No matter how much he thought about it.

_Besides_he tried to tell himself _he's lazy and has no respect for human life and he does crazy experiments and leaves severed heads in the fridge and seriously would it kill him to do some chores every now and then? Plus he can be plain mean sometime...even if I'm sure it's because he's hiding a broken little boy inside...he really is amazing...and beautiful...and..._

"John!" Sherlock called from the kitchen.

Sighing John put his book he hadn't been reading on the arm of the chair to not read later. _Speak of the devil..._

"What?" John asked.

"Get in here, I need to borrow you."

Oh great. That probably meant John was needed for some experiment. Again. "Say please," he muttered under his breath as he walked into the kitchen.

"What do you want?" John looked at his flatmate from the door, his beautiful, amazing flatmate.

"What did you just mutter?" Sherlock asked.

"Nothing."

"Oh," Sherlock scribbled something down on a piece of paper, "You seem off lately, anything troubling you?"

"No!" John answered a little too quickly and maybe a tiny bit loudly. For once he hoped Sherlock couldn't be great. That he could overlook this and believe the lie.

For a moment he honestly thought Sherlock was going to say something else about it but instead he nodded, "good, good," and continued to scribble on the piece of paper. John had to stop himself from sighing in relief. He'd actually managed to keep something from the consulting detective.

"How's Harry?"

"What?"

"I asked how your sister was," Sherlock looked at John like he was an idiot, "don't make me repeat myself John, you know how I hate it."

"Why do you care?"

Sherlock sighed and put down his pencil, meeting John's gaze and seemingly begging the answer out of him.

"Fine. She's fine."

Sherlock gave John a quick smile which made John's pulse rocket and picked up his pencil again to continue writing, "I was wondering if you could tell me where my nicotine patches are John."

"No, you are not having any more of them." John said firmly.

"Thought that was a bit of a long shot," Sherlock sighed and pointed at the side, "I made you some tea."

John stared blankly at the steaming cup at the side as if it was some kind of fairy that had just popped out of the air, "You did what?"

"I made you tea, John."

Ever since John had moved into 221B he had never known Sherlock to ever make him anything. Sherlock Holmes was a selfish git. End of. He didn't do things for other people unless they benefited himself, even little things like cooking dinner or making tea.

"You didn't poison it did you?" John asks inspecting the brownish liquid as he picked up the cup.

"Don't be ridiculous John, Why would I want to drug you?" he looked at John with those big grey eyes, his floppy black hair falling into his face. He looked, to John's eyes, just so damn lovable.

Taking the tea John drank it slowly, letting the warm liquid pour soothingly into his body. It was actually quite nice and John felt his body relaxing as he pulled one of the kitchen chairs out from under the table and dropped lazily onto it.

"So what was it that you muttered earlier again John?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh I just said say please," John answered automatically.

"Right," John had closed his eyes for a moment but he could hear the scribble of pencil and paper from Sherlock's side of the table.

"And how's Harry?" Sherlock's voice filled John's head.

"She was admitted to hospital again last week, drunk her body into oblivion. She's going to need a kidney operation if she hopes to live."

"I'm sorry," John heard sherlock say softly from the other side of the table.

"And the nicotine patches?"

John's eyes blinked open. Did Sherlock really expect John to tell him that? John wouldn't hurt Sherlock. Ever. There was no way he would tell his flatmate anything about the drugs that he wanted. He opened his mouth to tell Sherlock to stop asking and found himself saying "Upstairs, in my pillow case, seemed only logical as I'm pretty sure you're allergic to beds."

"Wonderful!" Sherlock smiled as he began scribbling frantically.

God, why had John said that? Why had John said any of that? Realization dawned on him and he felt like smacking his best friend into oblivion, "You DID drug me!" John accused.

Sherlock grinned mischievously up at John, his eyes lighting up, "It was just an experiment John. I knew it was possible to make a concoction that would force the recipient to tell the truth! This is wonderful! Do you know what this means for the future of law John?! It's revolutionary! No one lies! Criminals will have to admit to the crimes they committed!"

"But you drugged me!" John shouted, "Did you even know you had it right! I could be dead! I could be poisoned! Sherlock Holmes!"

Sherlock sighed and took the drugged cup from John's hands, "but you aren't, you're perfectly fine, you're just unable to lie."

That wasn't the point, that wasn't the point at all. Wait...what had sherlock just said?

_Unable to lie..._

Oh shit. This was really very very very bad. What if Sherlock accidently asked something that lead to a confession of feelings? Oh this was not good. Very, very not good. John could feel the heat flooding his cheeks.

"Oh, that's interesting!" Sherlock smiled in delighted in something.

"What?" John asked.

"You are hiding something! You're cheeks have heated and you looked positively alarmed when I just pointed out you couldn't lie! Then there's the fact that you got all angry when you figured it out! You're scared I'll ask you something that you don't want me to know."

John stood mutely, unable to open his mouth. Oh god, was Sherlock just going to ask what he was hiding? That couldn't happen. If Sherlock knew... god John might have to move out or something. Plus, the obvious embarrassment it would inflict on both of them when Sherlock was unable to give John love back.

"How long will this last?" John stammered, trying to change the subject.

Sherlock shrugged.

"Oh for shits sake, Sherlock!" John cried out, "This really isn't fair! You drugged me without my permission, you now have me in the position that I can't lie to you and you didn't even know if this drug would work!"

Very slowly Sherlock lifted the drink to his lips and took a sip of the truth drug, "Ok is it fair now?" He asked.

John just stood staring at the idiocy of his flatmate.

"I was 99% certain it would not kill you," Sherlock assured him when John showed no sign of breaking the silence.

"That's not good enough!" John shouted, snapping as he stood up and began to pase around the room "God, Sherlock! What if that one percent had happened and I had died? Would you even care if I did, or would you just go out and find yourself another blogger and someone to experiment on? Do you even care about me at all?" the question was loaded and John wasn't really thinking when he asked it. He was just ranting.

In the silence that followed John realised Sherlock was going to have to answer. Truthfully.

There was an uncomfortable look on Sherlock's face as he figereted in his seat and said quietly, "Of course I would care, of course I care about you," he looked up meeting Johns brownish eyes, "how can you even ask that?"

John was at a loss. Not really what he had expected. Still Sherlock only cared about him in a friend way, John was sure. So Sherlock could still never know how John felt. Despite this he felt the words on his tongue about to answer the question Sherlock asked. The answer to any question sherlock asked.

"You don't always act like you do."

"Oh," Sherlock looked down.

"Look, Sherlock," John said after a minute, "maybe we shouldn't speak to each other until this wears off."

"No way!" Sherlock smiled, suddenly losing his silence and replacing it with avid enhusiasum "I want to know what your hiding, John Watson. And seen as you won't tell me in your normal state, I figured you might be forced to say now."

John's eyes widened, "come on, Sherlock. Don't do that, please."

For a moment John thought Sherlock would agree, get up and walk out of the room. Then everything could go back to normal later on, after the truth drug had left there systems.

He had no such luck. That had just been very wishful thinking.

"I think we should play a game!" Sherlock declared.

"A game?"

"Yes a game! We ask each other questions, starting at less private and working up. It will be great, and the best thing is that it will help with my reserch into this as well, see what the results are if the questions are more personal"

"And how do you win?" John heard himself ask.

"Whoever gets the best answer, I suppose," Sherlock shrugged.

"No," John crossed his arms over his chest. This was far to dangrous ground to be walking on.

"Fine, I'll just ask you what's going on right now and then you'll have to tell me anyway. I believe that way would be quicker but you would find it unfair or something. This way you get to find out my secrets too."

Well shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Sherlock had left John with no choice. Play the game and maybe avoid the question or keep it going until the drug wore off or tell him here and now. Sherlock's amazing eyes were on him, gloating. He knew he'd won. John sighed and pulled up a chair so he was facing Sherlock.

"The game is on, Mr Holmes."

Sherlock smiled that amazing way that made his face light up and made John's pulse rocket. Oh. My. Shit. This was bad. This was very, extremely not good. What had he gotten himself into now?


	2. Chapter 2

John didn't know what to do. They just sat there, a little awkwardly, staring at each other across the table in silence.

What was Sherlock going to make John say? How the hell had John ever gotten into this mess? There was no way this was going to end well...

"Favourite case?" Sherlock finally asked.

Oh, John practically sighed out in relief. That was easy. John knew exactly what his favourite case was, and certainly had no trouble telling Sherlock so, "The study in pink."

John smiled at the memory of it. When he had first met that slightly bizarre man with beautiful hair and piercing grey eyes. Sherlock had captivated him immediately with his first question, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" Despite that though John honestly had no idea why he showed up at Bakers Street the next day. He almost hadn't. Thinking about it now John realised that it was probably only the dream he had the night before that made him go. The dream had not been about the war-like they usually were- or in any way bad. No, this dream had been about beautiful dark curls and stunning grey eyes that seemed to know _everything_about John.

Of course it wasn't just the man that made him love "A study in pink" the case itself was amazing. John had certainly never expected anything like it. A dead woman on the floor dressed in pink. Serial suicides. It truly had been fantastic. And of course it had solved his limp. Which John was grateful for but it had done more than that, it had introduced John to a new, excited way of life. Brought him back to a world where he could help again. A place where he could make a difference.

It had also been the day that he realised he was bisexual. The moment he saw Sherlock and the cabbie through the window and he pulled the gun without even thinking, that's when he knew. He had known as he squeezed the trigger he could go to jail for what he was doing. And he didn't care. Anything to save Sherlock Holmes. Anything at all.

Sherlock nodded bringing John back to the present, "ok," he leaned forward ever so slightly, propping his chin up with his hand, and staring John right in the eye "you're turn. Go on John, ask me a question, I promise not to lie."

John gulped. Wow, Sherlock was-for lack of a better word-sexy. And he didn't even know he was. It was frustrating, the way those black curls cast shadows over his perfect eyes that could look right into your soul and read everything that everyone else failed to see. And those cheekbones that stood out so profoundly. God how John longed to run his mouth along those lines they created; feel the cool, pale skin in his mouth.

He stopped his thoughts in their tracks. No point obsessing over what could never be and time to start working on what was going on right now. What didn't he know about Sherlock Holmes? What did he want to know?

"What's your favourite colour?" he finally settled on.

Sherlock snorted as if he thought it was a rubbish question but still he answered, as he had to, "red. Like blood."

Figures.

God, Sherlock was such a psychopath sometimes.

_High functioning sociopath_a voice in his head reminded him.

Sherlock plunged straight into his next question, without delay "Why is a study in pink your favourite case?"

John wondered if he could get away with not saying everything but still saying the truth. It was worth a shot. He just had to miss out the bits about realizing he was bisexual and falling in love with a man he hardly even knew. "It was our first case, the case that changed my entire life," he shrugged slightly; "It was the start of the rest of my life and not to mention how it started my relationship with my best friend." Good. He hadn't said anything about love or his sexuality or dreams about Sherlock. That was good.

Twisting his lips up, almost lazily Sherlock sat back in his seat, seemingly pleased with the answer.

"So," John searched for a question to ask the consulting detective. His consulting detective. No! Yes... John needed to stop thinking like that. Maybe if Sherlock could manage to make something like truth drug, he could make a _not think about your flat mate in that way because it's wrong and bad and completely uncalled for_drug.

"What's your favourite case?" He said, trying desperately to shut his mind up.

"A study in pink," Sherlock surprises him in saying. Wow. For Sherlock that wasn't even a good one. No Moriarty or anyone really interesting involved. They'd certainly had better ones.

Before John could ask why Sherlock leaped in with his next question, "Why did you shoot the cabbie?"

Oh. Shit.

John could feel words coming into his mouth. Words that he defiantly shouldn't say. He couldn't stop them and he watched helplessly as they stumbled out of his mouth, "I didn't even think about it, I just did it. You were going to die. I couldn't let you die. I just couldn't. Even then you were-" John tried to stop himself from continuing but found he just couldn't, "-my everything," he finished, his cheeks heating up.

Shifting on his seat slightly Sherlock looked slightly uncomfortable.

_Please think I mean in a friendship way_John thought as he tried to distracted Sherlock with another question, "worst case?"

"The great game," Sherlock answered moving his face so he was looking out the window instead of at John.

"But you loved that one!" John cried out in surprise, "You met Moriarty on that case! How is it your worst?" John asked before he realised he'd broken the rules of the game. One question each way. No matter, Sherlock would have to answer it now, the drug would ensure that. And John really was curious how the one he would have pinned as Sherlock's best case would actually be his worst.

"You almost died," Sherlock said quietly, and then he dropped his voice even more, still not looking at John, "You're my everything too you know, and when I saw my everything wrapped in a bomb, when I thought my everything was really Moriarty even for that split second..." Sherlock stopped for a moment, "It was the worst moment in my whole life."

_You're my everything too_

Sherlock. John could hardly hear anything from how hard his heart was pounding. Obviously Sherlock was referring to John being his only friend but still...

_You're my everything too_

God, Sherlock.

They sat in silence for a moment before Sherlock cleared his throat and asked the next question, "Why didn't you run away when I deduced all those things about you. Or when you found a head in the fridge, or found that I was an annoying, selfish git? Why didn't you react like all the others?" Sherlock said it in a swift manor, as if he was just another normal question but his eyes gave him away. In that moment he looked...vulnerable. Christ, John just wished he could get up and kiss that look right off his face. He didn't of course. He couldn't really. He had to answer the question. The drug was forcing him to but honestly he didn't really mind.

"Because it was amazing. You're amazing. Those deductions, I still don't even know how you do it. It's fantastic. You showed me the world as it could be, dangerous, exciting and well, fun. I honestly don't get how those other people could react like they do when you are acting so damn clever. You're so amazingly intelligent it drives me insane sometimes. And the other stuff like heads in the fridge...Well I'm not saying I like it but I don't mind it. It's a small price to pay for the amazing life I live," John paused before adding, "The amazing life I live because of you."

Sherlock smiled then. A real smile. John loved it when Sherlock really smiled. He didn't do it often but when he did it made John's heart flutter in his chest. It took over his face entirely, making him look young and blissfully happy. It reduced the coldness and the hard extra; showing the perfect man underneath to the rest of the world even if it was just for a moment.

"What about me?" John asked slowly, "Why did you pick me? I'm nothing special, why aren't I just another Anderson?" It was a question John had wondered about for some time but never thought to ask. Why him.

"Because you're the only one. You see me. You like me not just the brain. And you're a mystery. I can't always read you like a can other people. You're unpredictable. You're a puzzle and the only friend I have ever had."

John gulped slightly, "I'm not unpredictable."

"You are to me," Sherlock answered softly.

God. Sherlock was alluring.

This game hadn't been so bad actually, John realised. Sherlock hadn't asked anything that made John tell him about how he really felt about him but they'd managed to reveal some things and because of it John just felt more comfortable and a bigger part of Sherlock. Yes this wasn't so bad. Wasn't so bad at all.

_You're my everything to..._

"What are you hiding?" Sherlock asked, softly, almost as if he was asking it to himself, instead of to John.

John's world came crashing down around him.

Oh. Fuck.

FUCK.

FUCK.

FUCK.

He felt the truth drug working its way around his body. He had to tell Sherlock. He was going to say it. And then he would have to leave. John stared blindly and Sherlock, realizing that this life would probably be over for him a few more seconds.

No more cases.

No more 221B.

No more Sherlock.

Was there a way he could get out of this? No, he could already feel the words forming in his mouth.

_Please don't make me do this. Please stop. Just let me not say it._

"I-" John gulped his voice catching as Sherlock turned his eyes to look into his, "I'm-" Oh god no. This wasn't fair! "I'm in-"

"I'm in love with you."

Sherlock's eyes widened in shock, he sat up straighter, his mouth-those perfect lips-forming a small o.

Had John really just said that?

Oh. Fuck.

Fucking hell.

Sherlock seemed frozen and John just couldn't take it anymore. He stood up, his chair making breaking the silence as it scrapped against the floor. Sherlock's eyes followed John as he stood.

"I'm going to go and pack my stuff up and leave," John's throat felt dry, his voice sounded raspy.

"John," Sherlock called hoarsely as John ran to his room, John ignored him. Ignored everything. He needed to get away. He couldn't stand to be under Sherlock's stare any longer if Sherlock knew.

_I'm in love with you._

What had John just done?


	3. Chapter 3

The phone beeped in John's pocket. Taking it out to read the text he made no effort to stop his tears from sliding onto its smooth surface.

_ Got a case you might be interested in, Sherlock's not replying to his texts, tell him for me will you? Meet us at Scotland yard when you're ready_-GL

John read the text over and over, his brain not really registering it. Not registering the fact that he would never be able to go to Scotland Yard.

Was all this over?

Getting texts of Lestrade and running off to crime scenes.

Oh god it was, wasn't it?

John didn't realise he had sank to the floor until he felt his backside hit the cold hard ground. He wrapped his arms around his legs and began sobbing rather loudly, his phone falling from his limp grasp and landing with a bang on the floor.

How had he let this happen?

_I'm in love with you..._

How could he have ever told Sherlock that? Even if he was under the influence of the truth drug. God, this was so stupid. Why had Sherlock even made that stupid thing? If he hadn't John wouldn't be half way through packing up his stuff, sobbing in a heap on the ground. He'd be off to the crime scene to solve a murder.

It was then that John truly realised his life was basically over.

How had he been so stupid?

How had he let Sherlock Holmes fall through his finger tips?

He could have lived with Sherlock never loving him back, he could have lived with pent up emotions and words that were never said. He could have lived with that. But he couldn't live with it if Sherlock knew. He couldn't live with Sherlock if Sherlock knew.

He had just, destroyed the most important thing to him in the world, his biggest dream.

A life with Sherlock Holmes.


	4. Chapter 4

There was a knock on the door.

John didn't even look up from his position in the corner of the room. He just pulled his legs tighter up to his body.

The door made a creaking noise as it opened but John still didn't take his head out of the safe nock into between his chest and pulled up legs. He didn't care who it was in the room, it could be a murder for all he knew. He honestly couldn't give a shit. Whoever it was wasn't seeing him like this, crying like a little girl on his bedroom floor. They certainly weren't going to see his face.

The man who had just walked in cleared his throat, "John," the voice sounded...unsure. A thing John was almost certain that voice never sounded like.

Sherlock.

God, why couldn't he just go away, leave John alone. Did he have to come and embarrass John even more than he already was? Upset John to the point of no return? John already had no dignity left, had Sherlock come to try and take away more?

John almost jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand on his arm. He could have sworn he hadn't heard Sherlock move from the doorway. Was he going delusional now as well?

"John," Sherlock said again, in that same unsure, almost timid voice, "look at me, please."

John didn't move his head up. Wouldn't- no couldn't- look Sherlock in the eye after his confession.

John had always expected Sherlock's hands to be rough but the delicate touch on his chin proved him wrong as Sherlock's ice cold fingers pulled John's head out of his lap and forced the doctor to make eye contact.

John almost gasped. Sherlock was so close, sat on his toes, his long arms reaching to lift John's chin and stop him from looking down again. There were shadows in his eyes mixed in with the grey and small swirls of blue, and somewhere deep within the sea of colour was a sadness, a burning sadness. And also...something else John didn't quite understand. Pity? Did Sherlock Pity him for his predicament?

The two men stared at each other in silence for a long moment before Sherlock slowly retracted his hand, and it fell limp at his side, "you see but you do not observe," he murmured, softly, as if he was speaking to himself.

"Sherlock," John's voice cracked as he spoke. He didn't want to cry in front of the man who had stolen his heart. Had stolen his mind. Had stolen his _soul._ But he felt tears streaming down his face anyway, "please, just leave me alone. Lestrade wants you on a case. Go there instead, please. I just can't do this," John begged.

"John," Sherlock said again.

"What?" John asked, he tried to lower his eyes but he just couldn't. Sherlock's stare held him prisoner.

"You are my everything too," Sherlock used his hand on John's arm to start tracing circles on his doctor's arm.

_You are my everything too..._

What did Sherlock mean? He wasn't making any sense. John thought about asking exactly what the hell was going on behind those deep eyes but realised he wouldn't get a straight answer.

Except he would.

The truth drug.

Here goes nothing.

"What is going on, Sherlock?"

Dropping his eyes, Sherlock finally let John free from his gaze, instead Sherlock watched his own hand that was currently twisting patterns on John's upper arm.

"What is going on," Sherlock began, "is that you are a complete arrogant twat. How can you not see what's going on here? You said you loved me..." Sherlock took in a deep breath, as if preparing to jump from a very high height "isn't it obvious the feeling is mutual?"

For a moment, John's brain didn't register what was being said. What Sherlock had just confessed too.

And then it hit him.

John's heart rocketed...Was Sherlock saying what he thought Sherlock was saying. Was Sherlock...in love with him? Was the great consulting detective truly in love with the army doctor?

The truth drug made John answer Sherlock's rhetorical question, "Nope. I had no clue you felt the same way. I still can't even. Oh, god, Sherlock, is this really happening?"

The detective nodded, "Yes."

John could practically feel himself filling with happiness. It felt like helium. John was certain that if it wasn't for Sherlock's hand on his shoulder he would float away.

Silence flooded between the two men, but it wasn't awkward at all, both were happy just to sit and stare at the other.

Breaking the silence Sherlock laughed hoarsely, nervously, "I thought you weren't gay?"

"I made an exception for you," John whispered.

The moment seemed too fragile. Like it would smash in an instant. Was this even real? Maybe John had dozed off or something. It seemed the only logical expiation for the way Sherlock's eyes were looking at him; full of wonder, astonishment, slight shock and ...well...love.

"What happens now?" John asked after another moment of them both staring into each others eyes, completely mesmerised in the discovery of love that grew between them.

"Now I kiss you."

John smile filled his whole face as he leaned in and all his wildest dreams became real.


	5. Chapter 5

The morning light flooded through the window to spill its soft orange glow of the pair of lovers tangled together in bed.

Sherlock was awake, he always woke up early, never getting more than four or five hours sleep per night, if that. John's head rested on his bare chest, his beautiful naked body wrapped snugly around his consulting detective. Running his fingers absentmindedly through John's hair the consulting detective realised how truly happy he was. He had, of course, had feelings for his Army Doctor for quite some time now, and had indeed found his mind palace full of all these new rooms where there was usually John and a very large bed. Back then he thought he could live without the reality though. Now though if someone told him he had to go back to a world without this, Sherlock was sure he'd just die. He could not live in a world without his Army Doctor. How truly lucky he was that his truth drug had worked and not poisoned John in any way.

"Hmmmm..." John hummed into Sherlock's chest as he began to stir.

"John," Sherlock called softly to his Doctor. His John.

"Good dream," John mumbled, "leave me to sleep."

"Oh really?" Sherlock felt himself arch an eyebrow, "can I ask what this dream was about?"

"A truth drug which made me admit my feelings to Sherlock. I thought I was in deep shit until he told me he felt the same. Sherlock told me he loved me. Then I found out that he was absolutely fucking amazing in bed." John let out another hmmmm of contentment.

"Am I now?" Obviously the truth drug hadn't worn off yet. Sweet John thought this was a dream!

"What?" John opened his eyes and tilted his head back to meet Sherlock's warm gaze, "oh," he breathed his mind beginning to realise was defiantly no dream, "_Oh."_

"Absolutely fucking amazing in bed?" Sherlock asked, mockingly.

Turning slightly pink, John nodded, "definitely."

Leaning down Sherlock planted a loving kiss on John's lips.

"I will never get enough of that," John breathed as they broke apart and Sherlock went back to running his fingers through his best friend's hair. Through his lovers hair.

"Me neither."

"Really?" John asked, slightly surprised.

"Of course."

"Won't you get bored or something? Isn't all this," John waved his hand in-between John and Sherlock, "unnecessary and boring?"

"You are not unnecessary or boring; I could never get bored of you, of this."

"That's a little out of character."

"Something I seem to be a lot when I'm around you."

John felt himself giggle, "I can't believe this."

"Me neither."

They sat quietly for a few minutes, John's left hand beginning to trace patterns on Sherlock's shoulder. Both men were content to stay like this forever, never moving.

"How did you not know?" John asked, breaking the silence "You with your deductions and knowing everything about someone from the stain on their tie? How did you not know?"

Sherlock sighed, "I seem rather blinded when it comes to you. I guess I did read some signs but I feared it was more wishful thinking on my part."

"The truth drug is still working on us isn't it?" John asked as he contemplated Sherlock's answer.

"Yes."

"Want to play another short game?"

"Hmmm..." Sherlock replied brushing John's hair with his lips, "What do you want to know?"

"When did you fall in love with me?"

"I suppose it started when you shot the cabbie for me, but I didn't know until that night in the swimming pool. If anything had happened to you..." Sherlock bit his lip, "I knew then I wouldn't be able to go on."

"When did you become so sentimental?" John found himself laughing.

"I think you have that affect on me."

"so do you have any questions for me?" John wondered.

"When did you fall in love with me?"

"To be honest when you asked me "Afghanistan or Iraq?" but I didn't know. That night was the first night I had no nightmares since I came home from the war, I dreamed about you instead. I didn't really understand what was happening but then when I pulled the gun on the cabbie, I knew."

They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment before John broke it by asking, "What happens now?"

"Now, we go on as normal, I suppose. Just with far more of," Sherlock waved his hands between them, "this."

"Of course."

"And we stop paying for my room."

"Good idea."

Sherlock and John both let out a sigh of contentment.

"You're absolutely fucking amazing in bed to you know?" Sherlock said, his voice slightly mocking.

"Shut up," John laughed as he moved his head so he could kiss trace Sherlock's cheek bones with his lips, "always wanted to do this."

"Oh god," Sherlock whispered, "I think I've found the cure to my boredom."

"I think you have," John agreed against Sherlock's skin as he moved his lips to claim Sherlock's mouth.

The kiss was beautiful, delicate, and soft. Sherlock opened his mouth slightly and began to run his tongue over John's lower lip, begging for acceptance. John leaded back teasingly just to see Sherlock's slight growl and rejection.

"Greg had a murder for us," John whispered, temptingly.

Sherlock gave him a puzzled look and John was caught between sighing and smiling.

"Lestrade."

"Oh," Sherlock nodded.

"Want to take him up on it?"

Sherlock honestly took some time to think about it. Going to a crime scene would mean getting up and getting dressed, which would be bad. Of course Sherlock was always tempted by a crime scene and as long as John was coming with him it didn't really matter what they were doing. As long as his doctor was there. Next to him. Until the day he died.

"Always," Sherlock found himself saying.

John smiled, happy. Just so happy. Happy that he was still here. For a moment yesterday he was sure he wouldn't be. Sure he would be long gone and out of Sherlock's life forever. Now he had everything he had ever wanted, Sherlock Holmes and a crime scene.

John let himself kiss Sherlock again.

"The game is on, Mr Holmes," he said as he drew away, "Let's go catch us a murderer."

And so they did.


End file.
